


part of something ours (and ours alone)

by tiigi



Category: Big Time Adolescence (2020)
Genre: Age Difference, Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mentions of Underage Attraction, Mild Angst, Pining, aged up character, zeke loves mo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:14:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23344552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiigi/pseuds/tiigi
Summary: Everybody seems to think that Mo wants Zeke around to feel cool and Kate seems to think that Zeke wants Mo around to feel young, but that’s the one thing he knows she’s wrong about.He wants Mo around because he fucking loves him. He needs Mo around because he only ever feels like he’s worth something when he’s hanging out with a teenager he’ll never get to touch, to kiss, to love in the way that someone like Mo deserves to be loved.
Relationships: Monroe "Mo" Harris/Zeke Presanti
Comments: 16
Kudos: 42





	part of something ours (and ours alone)

**Author's Note:**

> These two idiots are in LOVE

The first time Zeke notices it, he feels like a creep. Mo is sixteen and Zeke is twenty three and despite what Zeke might think, _sorry your Honour but I’m sixteen at heart too_ will not hold up in a court of law. He’s a stoner and a loser and if he was a better person he’d stay away from Mo altogether, because people like Zeke don’t belong with people like Mo – they don’t deserve them. Nothing good can come from their friendship, so he can only imagine the damage that a relationship would do.

But Mo is just so damn pretty, is the thing, and not just because he looks a lot like his sister. He’s gorgeous, with his tousled hair and his dopey smile and his hero worship. Narcissism is a big aphrodisiac, Zeke has heard, and having someone as beautiful as Mo look up at him as though he hung the damn moon is the biggest aphrodisiac of all. It makes him feel powerful, makes him feel like he could be worth something after all, if Mo thinks he is.

Sometimes, when Zeke cheats on his girlfriend with Kate, he thinks of Mo. Most of the time it’s not even in a sexual way, because sex with Kate becomes boring after a while. Sometimes he’ll just remember something dumb that Mo said or he’ll think of a sick idea for a birthday gift that he’ll add to the growing list of shit he’ll never be able to afford. Sometimes, when it is sexual, that’s when Zeke feels the worst. He’s too old to be thinking about what Mo would taste like on his tongue.

After Kate leaves, Zeke always sits in his car for a while afterwards and smokes and cries until he feels better. Then he’ll drive home and he’ll lie in bed and he’ll go to work and all the while he’ll be thinking about when he next gets to see Mo.

People call them an old married couple, say they love each other, say they’re brothers. Maybe they are. Everybody seems to think that Mo wants Zeke around to feel cool and Kate seems to think that Zeke wants Mo around to feel young, but that’s the one thing he knows she’s wrong about.

He wants Mo around because he fucking loves him. He needs Mo around because he only ever feels like he’s worth something when he’s hanging out with a teenager he’ll never get to touch, to kiss, to love in the way that someone like Mo deserves to be loved.

He can do other things. He can get Mo booze and weed for his parties, he can let Mo bring his dates to Zeke’s house, he can wax poetic about the beauty of living alone, and he does, all the time. Sometimes he thinks it’s the only thing Mo stays around for.

But even if it was, Zeke knows he wouldn’t object. He’ll keep doing all that shit if it means he gets to keep Mo for just a little bit longer, if it means Mo won’t realise what a piece of shit he is just yet.

So he keeps quiet and he goes about his day as normal and that, in the end, is where he fucks up.

***

Watching Mo grow up has been and always will be the greatest privilege of Zeke’s life. He thinks that and he feels like a fucking grandfather - albeit a cool one, with molly and all-night ragers - but it’s true. He can remember being sixteen, not knowing what the fuck he was going to do with his life, and along came this kid who treated Zeke like he was a legend, like everything he did was iconic. It felt incredible, to be loved so unconditionally, and even though that changed here and there over the years, it’s still a feeling he clings to.

With Mo on his couch, barefoot and sleepy, it’s easy for Zeke to act like he’s not such a massive fuckup. If Mo thinks he’s worth spending time with, then he’s got to be worth _something._ Mo is eighteen now, Zeke knows, and he’ll be leaving for college soon and he doesn’t need a loser friend dragging him down while he’s there. Zeke is twenty five now, old enough to know better. He’s not a stoner anymore - it hadn’t been easy, but hurting Mo was hands down the worst thing he’s ever done in his fucking life and it’s easier to hate the drugs than himself, so he ditched them. He still wishes he hadn’t, sometimes, times like right now, because watching Mo’s eyelids flutter closed and his lips part and his fringe fall across his forehead messily has him wanting to take a hit like nothing else, but he’s come this far. He can imagine how disappointed Mo would be in him, so he sits on one hand and grabs the TV remote with the other.

“Mo,” he murmurs, turning the volume down until it’s barely audible. “Mo? C’mon, sleepyhead, you can’t stay the night here.”

As much as Zeke would love that, he doesn’t think Reuben would be too pleased. Besides, he’d have to give up his bed for Mo and he doesn’t think that having the love of his life sleeping in his bed will help his situation much.

“Hey, Momo,” Zeke tries again, this time leaning over to shake Mo back into consciousness. Only, Mo has covered himself with his hoodie for warmth and Zeke isn’t really looking at what he’s doing and so when he lays his hand down, he lays it down on the curve of Mo’s thigh. Zeke freezes, terrified, breath caught in his throat. He can’t feel anything through the multiple layers of fabric between them but he’s sure his fingertips are brushing the sensitive spot where Mo’s thigh meets his ass and he’s so close, could just slide his hand a little further up and then he’d be cupping it. Mo is so warm, just radiates heat all the time, and Zeke has never wanted anything more.

But he can’t, and he shouldn’t, so he doesn’t. He wishes Mo were properly awake, wishes he would tell Zeke to do it, tell Zeke that he wants it, but he’s practically asleep and he’s so young and he doesn’t look at Zeke like he hung the stars anymore, but sometimes his voice still betrays that admiration that Zeke gets off on. Mo deserves so much better.

“Zeke?” Mo’s voice comes out small and soft when he replies, face pressed into the cushion of the couch. Zeke could cry, and he can’t remember the last time he did that. Probably when Mo’s father burst into his house and told him to stay away from Mo, made him confront the reality of what he’d done to the person he loved. It was a shitty night. 

“Yeah, Momo,” Zeke says, because a coherent Mo would never let the nickname slide without an eye roll or a shake of his head.

“Stay here tonight?” Mo asks, sounding so damn precious that Zeke is instantly reminded of the kid all dressed up in his father’s bathrobe to go to his first party. Mo is rarely what you expect him to be. Greatest privilege, Zeke doesn’t need to remind himself.

“Yeah, course, buddy.” Zeke replies quickly, because he’s a sucker for anything Mo asks of him. “You sure your parents’ll be cool with that?” 

“Mmm, whatever.” Mo sits up. His hair is sticking up all over the place and Zeke reaches out to smooth it down on instinct. “I’m eighteen now, can do what I want.”

“Sure thing,” Zeke says fondly. Mo’s hair is too short to tuck it behind his ears but Zeke spends a few seconds longer than necessary trying to do it anyway, just to see the way it springs forward again, curling at the ends.

When he pulls away, he realises that Mo has been watching him the whole time. His breath shudders and he could _really_ do with a drink right about now.

“Hey,” Mo whispers, still watching him with those knowing eyes. Zeke feels naked, vulnerable, like all the jokes that make up his body armour have been stripped away and now he’s left out in the open for anyone to see.

Except it’s not just anyone that’s seeing him - it’s Mo. Mo has always been special.

“Hi,” Zeke whispers right back, mouth curling into a smile. He wants to run the pad of his thumb over the curve of Mo’s cheekbone.

“‘M’too tired,” Mo complains, eyes slipping shut again. He starts to fall sideways and Zeke has to react quickly, wrapping an arm around his waist so that he doesn’t topple off onto the floor. The new position has them closer than Zeke thinks they’ve ever been, their chests flush together, faces inches apart, fingers splayed out over the small of Mo’s back. Zeke could just lean forward and rest his face in the crook of Mo’s neck, inhale the familiar scent of laundry detergent and skin. Mo’s eyes are still closed.

“What, you need me to carry you?” Zeke tried to joke, but his voice comes out rough and hoarse. He’s only carried Mo a few times before, and most of those were when Mo was ten or eleven. The most recent was when he was sixteen, and he had just jumped off a roof, and they had to run from the cops. Zeke doesn’t think he’s ever been so afraid as when he was watching Mo teeter on the edge of the roof, not knowing what would happen next, unable to see the swimming pool below him. 

He holds Mo tighter now, on the couch, because they’re both there and safe and because he can. 

“Yeah,” Mo says. Zeke is sort of taken aback but he also sort of expected this, so he doesn’t object. Why would he? Instead, he slides his other arm underneath Mo’s knees and scoops them up, carrying him bridal style towards the bedroom and desperately trying to ignore the way this makes him feel inside. Mo wraps an arm around Zeke’s neck and buries his face sleepily against Zeke’s chest.

Zeke sleeps on the couch that night. He could have slept in his bed with Mo - Mo would have let him, he knows, would have held back the covers in a silent invitation and they could have spent the night wrapped around each other. But Zeke doesn’t want to fall asleep like that and wake up knowing he has to let it all go. He doesn’t think he could stand it.

***

Saying goodbye, when the time comes, is one of the worst things Zeke has ever had to do. He’s never said goodbye to Mo before, not really; even before, when he hadn’t been able to see or speak to Mo for six months, they hadn’t officially said goodbye. It had just been Mo turning his back, walking away, Zeke on the floor with a bloody nose and blurry eyes and the all consuming fear that he had fucked his whole life up without even realising it.

This time, it’s a whole thing. Mo packs his shit for college, says goodbye to his family and then drives over to Zeke’s house for one final goodbye. Zeke doesn’t know how to handle saying goodbye to someone he’s known so long, let alone someone he loves so desperately. He wants to wrap Mo up in his arms and beg him not to leave, but how can he? Mo deserves to go to college and find a nice girl and have a nice, ordinary life, and if that means leaving Zeke behind then so be it. If Zeke touches Mo right now, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to let him go. 

“So,” Zeke says, stretched out along the sofa. “This is goodbye, huh?” 

Mo stands with a rucksack slung over his shoulder, looking down at Zeke with an unreadable expression. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“You better text me about all the college chicks you hook up with, alright?” Zeke forces a laugh, and Mo cracks a smile, but neither of them are happy and it’s obvious. 

“Course, all the time.”

“Don’t get too hopeful.” Zeke’s grin fades. Mo smiles sadly.

“Call me later?” Mo asks. Zeke has no clue whether he will or not, because hearing Mo’s voice without knowing when he’ll next get to see him sounds like torture, but he can’t just say no.

“Sure,” he shrugs. Mo hesitates for one brief moment, like he’s hoping Zeke will stand up, like he wants them to hug or something. Zeke stays stubbornly sitting down, determined to make this hurt less for himself.

“Okay, well,” Mo nods, turning away reluctantly. “See you round, Zeke.” 

Zeke doesn’t reply. He watches Mo turn and walk away, leave him behind for the second time, and has to act like his heart doesn’t break. 

The door clicks shut. Zeke exhales, rests his head in his hands and breathes through his nose for a few seconds to keep from crying. Somewhere in the next room, a clock ticks. The door swings open again.

“You were gonna let me leave like that?” Mo’s voice is thick with tears and when Zeke looks up he’s there, cheeks flushed red and eyes glassy, hurt. Zeke stands up.

“What the _fuck?”_ Mo says again, stepping forward and shoving at Zeke’s chest with one hand. Zeke stumbles backwards a little. “We’ve been best friends for almost ten years and you were gonna let me leave like _that?_ What’s _wrong_ with you?”

“Mo…” Zeke’s voice cracks when he tries to speak. Mo’s chest is heaving. They stand in silence for a few seconds, in which Zeke tries desperately to figure out what Mo wants from him.

Then, out of nowhere, Mo surges forward and kisses him.

Zeke has been wanting this for years, and the first press of Mo’s lips against his own feels like he’s just been punched in the stomach. He’s breathless, needy, his head is spinning. He kisses back with so much force that Mo nearly falls over.

“Is it because you’re in love with me?” Mo whispers tearfully, and Zeke can’t even begin to process this, to understand the fact that he _knows._ “Zeke, is it?”

Zeke just kisses him again, wet and open mouthed and hungry, his hands smoothing over Mo’s shoulders and down his chest towards the button of Mo’s jeans. He’s sinking to his knees before he even fully understands what he’s doing, relishing Mo’s gutpunched noise of surprise. He knows that Mo has had sex - with his girlfriend, and wasn’t that a fucking slap in the face - but he also knows that Mo would have told him if he’d done this before. He’s about to be the first person to get Mo in his mouth and that’s so overwhelming that he has to pause for a moment. 

“Zeke,” Mo sounds terribly small when he says Zeke’s name like that. One of Mo’s hands is resting on top of Zeke’s head and the other is stuffed between his teeth so that he can bite down on his knuckles to keep from crying out. Looking up at him like that, looking so pretty and vulnerable and familiar, is all Zeke needs to keep going.

He strokes Mo slowly, carefully, with his fist wrapped tight around the base and his thumb rubbing circles against the tip. Mo’s breath comes out ragged and quick when Zeke finally takes his cock into his mouth, bobs his head quickly because he knows Mo won’t last long and he wants to make this as good as possible.

 _I’ve wanted this for so long,_ he thinks to himself, _and now I have it and you’re slipping through my fingers. How can I let you go after this?_

“Zeke,” Mo says softly, accompanied by a high, surprised whimper and a desperate thrust of his hips. “I’m gonna come.”

That’s exactly what Zeke wants, so he removes his hand from the base of Mo’s cock and presses forward until the tip is just brushing the back of his throat and Mo moans, long and needy, as he comes. When Zeke looks up, Mo still has tears shining in his eyes and drying on his face, but he’s looking back down at Zeke with that familiar hero worshipping expression that has Zeke cursing and stuffing his hand into his underwear. It won’t take him long to come, not after that performance.

Mo drops to his knees beside Zeke and clutches at his forearm, the one that he isn’t using to stroke his dick, and leans forward to kiss him. It’s so strange, because Mo misses his mouth but he’s leaving wet, open mouthed kisses on any skin he can get to and it’s the hottest fucking thing Zeke has ever seen. He comes with a low groan and Mo’s lips and teeth and tongue on his neck, sucking an amateur hickey into his skin that Zeke will jerk off over for the next few days.

They both sit in silence for a few moments, catching their breath. Now that the haze of their orgasms has evaporated, the reminder of what’s about to happen crashes over Zeke all over again and he has to swallow past the lump in his throat.

“Do you?” Mo asks suddenly, nervous, hopeful.

“What?” Zeke replies, throwing an arm around Mo’s shoulder just to be close to him.

“Love me, I mean. Do you?”

“For years now.” Zeke admits. Now he’s sucked Mo’s cock, there doesn’t seem to be much point in keeping secrets. “I’m sorry. I know that’s fucked up.”

Mo shifts closer, traces his fingers up the veins in Zeke’s forearm. Mo doesn’t look at him when he says, “I don’t mind. It’s probably the least fucked up thing about you. I’ve always loved you, anyway.”

“Not like that.”

“Not at first,” Mo agrees. Then, “But does it matter? It’s always been you and me. It always will, Zeke. I love you.”

Zeke looks at him, takes in the earnest expression, the freckles scattered across his nose, the way his lips are bitten red and pretty. 

“I’m really fuckin’ in love with you,” he manages to say without choking. Mo smiles, as though that’s all he wanted to hear. “But this isn’t a good idea. Especially not when you’re going off to college like this. You should– you need your own space to grow and shit. You don’t need me killing your buzz, man.”

“Fuck that,” Mo laughs - really laughs, full bodied, like Zeke just told the funniest fucking joke. Zeke can’t for the life of him figure out what is going on. Maybe this is all a beautiful dream and he’s about to wake up alone again.

“You say that like I’m gonna get bored of you or something,” Mo rolls his eyes, even though that is exactly what Zeke is worried about, has always been worried about. “As if that could ever happen. You’ve been my best friend for almost ten years now. That’s not gonna change just because we don’t live near each other.”

“You say that now, but–” Zeke doesn’t know why he’s trying to argue when this is all he’s wanted for years now, but he’s relieved when Mo interrupts him.

“Yeah, exactly. I’m saying that _now._ So what’s the point of arguing? You love me, I love you. That’s all there is to it.”

Zeke has had daydreams like this before. _You love me, I love you._ He hopes more than anything that Mo is right.

“When do you have to be there?” He asks, heart somersaulting inside his chest when Mo lays his head on Zeke’s shoulder.

“Not for a few hours.” Mo says, and looks up at him, and smiles. “I’ve got some time to kill.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! <3


End file.
